


Make-Believe Monster

by slinden



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Dark Past, Drug Abuse, Eventual Romance, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, No one asked for this but I'm writing it anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-08-29 07:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slinden/pseuds/slinden
Summary: Ben Solo is trying to get his life back together, running from mistakes in his past. Rey has survived for centuries on her own and is determined to take care of herself, despite being dogged by her lingering humanity in a changing world. A chance encounter leads them into an affair filled with death, heartache, but also love. But broken people are not always promised happy endings.Modern day vampire AU.





	1. Chapter 1

 

The pub reeked of beer, sweat, and fading perfume. Halloween on a Saturday night brought out costumes and make-shift half costumes on young, drunk bodies out looking for a decent distraction from London in late October.

Rey pulled down the hem of her too-tight grey dress and shifted on the barstool. A jack-o’-lantern decoration dangled too close to her ear and she batted at it. Her half-finished drink was warm from the air of the too-dark pub, filled with too many people.

She sat up again and surveyed the crowd. It was nearly midnight and drinks were starting to hit people’s heads. The conversations had grown louder and louder over the faint music that would occasionally spike through a lull. A chilly, jacketed arm jostled her bare shoulder and she caught a heavy waft of smoke rolling off of the older man, thrusting his hand over the bar to catch the barkeep’s attention. She stiffened and the drunk turned an apologetic head in her direction.

“Sorry, love,” he smelled like he bathed in whiskey. His unfocused eyes were red rimmed and slightly watery.

“Not a problem,” she smiled lightly, shifting in her seat. “It’s crowded in here.”

“I hear ya,” he nodded. “What’s a nice girl like you doing here all alone?”

“Waiting for someone,” her smile broadened.

The drunk was about to speak again when the barkeep appeared to rescue her from the rest of the conversation he wouldn’t remember in the morning. The barkeep gave her a sympathetic look over the taps as he filled the man’s glass and she nodded. She’d been there for two hours and they’d only shared glances, but there was a slight connection there.

But he was too obvious.

The smoky man shuffled off to another part of the pub and she followed him with her eyes until she spotted the group of young men in a nearby booth. She thought she had felt eyes on her earlier and now she had their source. She locked eyes with a brown-haired man sitting near the edge and offered him a shy smile before turning back to her glass.

She wouldn’t be alone for long.

“Hullo,” he appeared at her side a moment later. “How’s your night?”

She pretended to sip at her glass. “Quite boring actually.”

“What are you supposed to be?” He asked, gesturing at her dress.

She nearly rolled her eyes but held a polite smile instead. “A girl getting stood up on a date. You?”

“Oh,” his alcoholic bravado faded for a second before he straightened his shoulders. “A fireman.”

“But that’s just a t-shirt,” she raised an eyebrow and turned herself towards him. It was just a pathetic fireman’s jacket printed onto an off-yellow shirt. He leaned against the bar, getting into her personal space.

“Well, I don’t see any fires around here,” he shrugged, laughing lightly. “Look, why don’t you come sit with us. We’ll get you a couple of rounds and see if your night gets any better.”

He was only slightly taller than she was, but had broad shoulders and kind blue eyes. She searched his face for anything that would remind her of someone else, but he was just another typical lad in a pub. She smiled and nodded, gathering up her drink and coat. He lingered at the bar to order as she joined his friends.

There were four of them in total and all worked at different offices. They’d gone to school together and were lamenting how seldom they met. She introduced herself as they made space for her. Her man, the one with the kind blue eyes, was Ronny. Damien, Troy, and Nick all welcomed her to the table with near shouts of approval at their friend. He slid in next to her and deposited a tray of shots onto the table.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Damien, the loudest of the group, laughed as he planted two shots in front of the small group. “He never gets the girl.”

“He hasn’t got me just yet,” Rey grinned, holding up the small glass. “To this ridiculous holiday.”

They all raised their glasses and she was the last one to carefully take the shot and quickly follow it by bringing her beer glass to her lips.

She faked her way through conversations about football and politics, smiling at the right parts and shaking her head at others. Another round of shots and drinks later, Ronny’s arm was around her, pointing at his friends about some old debate about football that seemed to have been going on since they were in school. She snuggled next to him and quietly slipped her hand under the table to run up his leg.

By the time that they left two hours later, everyone was thoroughly drunk and Ronny had been pawing at her crotch for the last half an hour. She had flirted back, keeping her eyes only on him.

He leaned heavily on her outside as she tried to fix his jacket.

“Should we get a cab?” She whispered, her lips close to his ear.

He blinked, looking around. “Where’re the guys?”

She shrugged. “They left.”

“That’s okay,” he stood up straighter and then stumbled. “Yeah, a cab. Cab’s are good.”

Taking his hand, she led him to the edge of the sidewalk. He was swaying slightly and she felt dark joy bloom in her chest. When a cab finally stopped, she helped him inside and he sloppily tried to kiss her. She dodged it and his mouth landed on her neck.

“Ron,” she smirked. “Give him your address.”

“What?” He sat up to blink at her.

“Your address,” she felt up his trousers, resting her hand on the fly of his jeans. “Where you live.”

“Oh,” he finally nodded. He leaned forward and told the driver the address.

When the cab pulled away, she let him kiss her. His mouth burnt with alcohol and she nearly gagged, but forced herself through it. He was focused on getting his hand up her dress and she playfully swatted him away.

“Come on, Rey,” he kissed her neck.

“Soon.”

She ended up having to pay the fare and that annoyed her. She watched him struggle with his keys to the front door of his building. She was only slightly familiar with this part of the city, but that wouldn’t be that big of a problem.

She followed him inside, helping him up the four flights. He pulled her into a bruising kiss outside of the door to his flat and shook his head.

“You need a better jacket,” he shook his head. “You’re freezing.”

“I’ll think about it,” she grinned.

He finally opened the door to his flat and she felt her excitement surge as she looked around the small space. Nothing was tidy and there were few pictures of family or friends on the walls. She stepped into the living room and studied the windows as he fumbled in the kitchen. He joined her near the balcony door with whiskey in each hand. She took the glass and pressed it to her lips: clearly a bachelor, who rarely saw his closest friends.

Perfect.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and swayed behind her.

“You’re so sexy,” his breath was warm in her ear and it sent a shiver through her body.

She turned in his arms and took the glass from his hand. She set them on the windowsill and pushed him towards the sofa. He grinned as he landed heavily on one of the cushions and she straddled him. As he shoved his tongue in her mouth, she ran her hand down the side of his neck, feeling the throbbing vein underneath her fingertip.

Yes, perfect.

  

-=-

 

It was well after two a.m. when Ben Solo finally snapped his laptop shut. The manuscript wasn’t perfect yet, but it would be by Monday morning. He’d used work as an excuse to avoid the invitation from the others at the publishing house to join them for drinks. Jessika had looked at him with an intent look before he rejected her again. They had coffee during his first month at the new job and he unwittingly didn’t realize it was a date until the next morning when she cornered him with a too-broad smile and an invitation for dinner. That meant the last five months had been awkward, but she would still try.

Stretching his arms behind his head he heard a dull thump from his upstairs’ neighbour’s flat. The young man had been out earlier and he had heard the laughter from the stairwell not that long ago. He rolled his eyes and stood from the couch to get a glass of scotch.

Rebuilding his life had started with moving to London. His mother had found him the job and forced him out of California and away from the ruins of his past. He had scorched the earth there and accepted her offer for a fresh start, even though it pained him.

Sipping at the drink, he eyed his laptop again. He was trusted with more and more important projects during the last month. He was the only one that could make it all implode before the six-month trial period ran out next week. But his boss liked him and his co-workers—Jessika aside—trusted him and didn’t try to pry that much into his past.

London was nothing like California.

Another, louder, thump from upstairs made him frown as he sipped on his drink.

Well, aside from lousy neighbours.

He had a habit of going over what he would be doing if he were back home when it was late at night and he was alone. Staring out through the glass of his small balcony, he sighed.

If he were in California right now, he’d probably be dead. It was all leading in that direction.

A distant siren echoed through the glass and he churned up more of the ashes of his past mistakes as he finished his drink.

The silence of his own thoughts was broken by a collision of feet landing solidly on his balcony railing. He stumbled backwards as a crouching young woman balanced herself on the rail. A dark stain covered the front of her pale dress and her eyes locked with his as his legs met his sofa.

The stain ran up her face to her mouth. The light from the dim streetlights reflected off her pale skin as they were locked in the tableau. He felt frozen by the intensity in her eyes as she studied him. Her face was neutral, but her eyes revealed a clear panic in being seen. 

She took two deep breaths before turning away.

Before he could react, she dropped off the edge of the rail and disappeared.

His hand was on the balcony door, thrusting it open. Glancing desperately down onto the street, he expected to see a body. But there was nothing.

His heart was pounding in his ears as he looked up. Where had she come from? His hand brushed the railing and found a warm liquid, left there by her hand. From the light from his flat, he smudged the red-brown fluid between his fingers. It was blood.

Snow started to lightly fall on his shoulders as he rapidly studied the street again. A car alarm made him start and he finally shook his head and went inside.

He couldn’t sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he only saw her face and her form going over the railing.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The murder is discovered and Rey is sidetracked.

 

 

Sunday morning broke with a banging on his door. He was half-changed, preparing to go to the gym. Pulling on his t-shirt, Ben crossed the floor with heavy feet. He hadn’t felt the exhaustion of not sleeping in many months. He needed to get his mind and body under control in order to make it to work the next day.

He was greeted by a serious-looking redheaded police officer, holding a notepad. “Good morning, sir. Do you have time to answer some questions about your upstairs neighbour?”

His tried not to react. Instead he rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, what about him?”

“Oh, you’re American? Wonderful,” the officer glanced down at his notepad. “Ben Solo, was it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded again. “What’s going on?”

He finally heard the heavy sounds of footsteps going up and down the stairs. He tried to crane his head past the officer but he blocked him.

“I’m afraid he was murdered last night. He forgot his wallet with a friend who went to drop it off this morning,” the officer said, his voice falling to a serious tone. “Did you hear anything strange last night?”

The eyes of the woman on the balcony flashed in his memory and he blinked. “I heard him come home around two a.m. I was up working and heard voices in the hallway.”

“Voices? More than one?”

Shit. “Yes, two.”

“Male or female?”

“I couldn’t hear,” he shrugged, scratching the back of his head.

The officer’s sharp eyes shot to his arm and he instantly dropped it back to his side. “Rough night?”

He gestured towards the bottle of scotch on the counter and the glass. Ben shrugged.

“Just a nightcap. I have a deadline at work on Monday,” he met the officer’s suspicious eyes and glared slightly. His distrust of police rose in his chest and he tried to clamp it down. Given the way that the officer looked at him, the mistrust was mutual. “But I didn’t hear anything strange. He came home, made some noise in the hall and nothing else.”

He stood up straighter and took a slow breath. He knew he looked terrible, but he didn’t like being judged.

“Hmm,” the officer scrawled a few lines on his notepad.

“Listen, officer…”

“Constable. Constable Hux.”

Ben’s face remained neutral. “I don’t know how I can help you.”

“Mr. Solo,” Hux narrowed his eyes. “A man’s throat was ripped out upstairs from you. Are you certain you heard or saw nothing out of the ordinary?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Hux didn’t look pleased with his reply and reached into his pocket. “Here is my card. If something does come to you, do call. We may need to search your balcony. Will you be home this evening?”

“No, I’m having dinner and staying at my mother’s tonight. Tomorrow?” He wasn’t exactly lying.

“Grand,” Hux pursed his lips and nodded. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Solo.”

Ben closed the door without saying goodbye. With his eyes on the balcony, he pulled on his hoodie and grabbed his phone. Every other Sunday he had dinner with his mother, that part was true. He rarely stayed over, but he could make something up as an excuse.

“Hi, Ben,” his mother answered. “How’s life?”

“Good. I’m good, mom,” he shifted his weight from side to side and turned away from the window. “What are we having for dinner tonight?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. I want to know. How are you?” Instead of doing what he knew he should do, he grabbed a rag from his kitchen.

“I’m fine. But now I’m pretty sure that there’s something wrong,” his mother sighed. “And why are you up so early?”

He went to the balcony door, rolling his eyes. “Someone was murdered upstairs last night. The police woke me up.”

“Oh my god. Did you know him?”

He opened the balcony door and glanced at the railing. A layer of snow covered where her hands had rested now. He shut the door again and backed away, hoping that the snow would obscure what the police were looking for.

“I said hello if I saw him,” he sat down on his couch, still eyeing the railing. “I’m calling because I’d like to stay at your place tonight. I…” he paused, feeling small and shaky. He had to clear his throat. “I still don’t like the police.”

“Oh, Ben. It’s fine. Come over. It’s closer for you to get to work from here anyway. I can get the driver to take you,” she was making noise in her kitchen and he had to hold the phone away from his face as he sighed.

“I don’t need that,” he stretched out his legs, finding a hole in one of his socks. “What time should I be there?”

“Five? Does five work for you?”

“Yes, mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

He hung up and tossed the phone weakly across the couch.

So it wasn’t her blood. It was his neighbour’s blood. And the police were looking for her. From the look in her eyes, he suspected she would be looking for him too.

Instead of just taking a change of clothes, he packed his laptop and his suit for Monday. He wasn’t planning on coming back tonight, with so many police around. There was part of him that also registered that he was afraid of her return as well.

Pausing at the door, he looked at the balcony one last time.

Grabbing a Post-It from the kitchen counter, he scrawled a note on the sticky side and fixed it to the glass.

The last thought that crossed his mind when he pulled up his hood to push by the police lingering in the stairwell was whether or not he wanted her to come back.

 

-=-

 

Rey awoke in the abandoned warehouse basement when the had sun set. She felt the shiver of rising from the death sleep brought on every night. She instantly reached for her backpack and grinned when she found it still filled with her things. This was not a good hiding place. She had been robbed twice while she slept a month ago, but was sure to track down the criminals by their scents in the following nights. They had screamed and suffered in her hands; well, they made her suffer too. The few things that she had collected were valuable only to her. It had taken a long time to find girls who wouldn’t be missed with proper ID and working phones.

She was still wearing the blood-soaked dress from last night. Everything had turned into a rush at the end, which she should be used to but was still stubbornly in denial about. Lifting the cheap fabric to her nose, she inhaled; it still held the coppery scent of the man she had already forced herself to forget.

The one thing that she nagged at her was the second man, from a floor below.

He’d seen her.

She pulled off the dress and tossed it onto the floor. Last night, she had cut it close. Autumn nights were long, but crossing London in a bloody dress meant taking longer and slower paths to her resting place. By the time she slipped through the broken window and replaced the bricks, the warm blood in her veins had cooled and she felt slow and tired. The sun was rising and her body was shutting down. She nearly had to crawl to her hiding place and fell asleep without setting a proper alarm.

She could easily forget her kill, but the downstairs’ neighbour made her feel a little less hungry. He looked surprised, but also not afraid. He had met her eyes with a curiosity she hadn’t seen in years, maybe a decade.

But he had seen her. He would have to die.

She rummaged through her bag, looking for clothes. Finding a t-shirt and jeans, she pulled them on. She felt dirty and hungry. And hated herself for ruining the dress.

The idiot from the bar hadn’t fought her. He was the one that made the mess. She had shed her underwear and he had entered her, half hard but imagining that he was erect. She had pretended that she was enjoying it, watching his eyes grow less and less focused until she attacked. Her fangs ripped into his neck, but he didn’t scream. He let her drink on him until he was nearly dead before letting out a weak protest. She hadn’t realized her dress was ruined until she got off of him to retrieve her panties.

And then she dropped onto the next balcony and met a pair of curious hazel eyes, more worried about her falling than afraid.

She was thinking about taking a shower _anywhere_ when one of the dozen phones in her bag started ringing. It reminded her that she had to charge them again at some point.

She picked it up and answered, forgetting which phone it was.

“Hullo?”

“Hi, Claire?”

Claire. A little shorter than her, but the same haircut; walking alone from the tube. Blood tasted like cinnamon, or what she remembered it tasted like. Worked as a healthcare assistant. Rey had taken her shifts a week after Claire no longer existed and no one said anything. Besides, no one openly asked for the night shift.

“Yeah, hi,” she sat down, trying to sound bubbly despite how dreadful she felt.

“Hi, it’s Beatrice calling from King’s. I saw your name on the reserve roster for nights and thought I’d give you a ring. We have some gaps this week on the geriatrics ward for nights and could use some help. Can you fill in?”

Work meant money. Money meant renting a hotel. Hotels meant warm water.

“Oh yes, I have some openings,” she replied. “I’m still having the problem with my bank. I think I mentioned that before?”

“Yes, that’s here. We were hoping you’d have that sorted out by now.”

She frowned and tried to force tears. “No, no I’m so sorry. Since my dad passed, everything has been tied up in his name. He had quite a lot of debt and I…”

She trailed off, faking a sob.

“Oh, no, Claire, I’m so, so sorry. No, we can find a way to cash you out. It shouldn’t be a problem. We really need some one on nights for the next week,” Beatrice sighed and sounded convinced.

Rey smiled, still pretending to sniffle. “Thank you for understanding. When do you need me?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow. What time?”

“Six? Do you still have the pass?”

She quickly rifled through her bag and grinned that she still had it. “Yes, I do.”

“Then it should still work. I’ll see you tomorrow evening then.”

The call ended just as the phone blipped down to five percent. She had plans for tonight and most of them didn’t involve charging a phone.

Grabbing her coat and slipping on her boots, she hoisted her bag on her shoulders. The shoes from last night could be left with the dress. They were ruined anyway.

She missed the times when she wanted to fix all of her things, but times had become so disposable. The dress had cost five quid and the shoes were stolen. There was no permanence today.

The first stop would be the café to charge a few of the phones. She would pretend to read an old textbook she had picked up a week ago and highlight things and frown the entire time over cold, untouched tea.

Then, it would be to another 24-gym to sign up for a free trial. She would change into a dingy pair of shorts and run for an hour as an excuse to take a shower.

Then, like every night, it would be finally snuffing out the hunger in her.

By that point in the night, everyone who had somewhere to be would be there. The free movers in society would be easier to spot.

Tonight, however, she had to add an extra stop.

Those poor, curious brown eyes couldn’t go on for another day.

Slumping into a corner table of the coffee shop, she first plugged in Clarie’s phone and pretended to read. An old man selling poppies rattled by her table and she smiled brightly at him. She would have bought one if she had the change.

How had it been one hundred years since the Great War ended?

She shook her head and tried to focus on her book. There were too many people and too many distractions.

The first phone was charged and she moved onto the next when she felt the eyes of the clerk on her. She glanced up and gestured at her book. He still frowned further. Her bag must have looked rattier than she had remembered. Annoyed, she shoved everything inside and huffed out.

Breaths were rising in the air as she searched for a gym she hadn’t visited yet. Why hadn’t a new one opened yet?

Running her hands through her dirty hair she groaned, stomping on the street corner. A few people turned and looked at her and she shook her head and kept walking. It would be good to have money again, at least for a time.

So, no shower tonight. That changed her plans. She slumped down outside a tube station and emptied her tea on the ground and set out the empty cup. A few pence would get her closer to where _he_ was. She looked down, trying to appear as sympathetic as possible. She would have better luck selling poppies.

The few coins that landed in her cup hung hollow in her ears.

Hunger was winning out. She felt the cold more when she was hungry.

And the more hungry she felt, the more she wanted to strike.

Snatching up her things, she cursed and started walking in a random direction. She was passing by a pub when the door slammed open and she was suddenly jostled by a body. A security guard was gripping the jacket of an older man who stumbled outside and directly into her. The man turned and his eyes lit up.

“Jane?” He smiled, ale drifting off of his breath. She looked from him to the guard and he studied her.

“Are you who he called?”

“Yes, yes, this is my daughter Jane,” he took her arm and Rey turned on her smile to reassure the guard. “She’ll take me home all right.”

She nodded. “Yes, da’. Do you have everything? I’m so sorry about this.”

The guard looked her up and down and shrugged, turning away. The man was her problem now.

The man nodded. “Yes, yes. Let’s…let’s go home. You haven’t been home in so long. I’ve missed you.”

She guided the man by the arm, holding back her growing urge to eat until she had him home. She had to make sure he didn’t have anyone waiting for him there. He wore a wedding ring and she saw her meal slipping through her hands as the man blabbed on about random Jane questions.

“Are you coming home for Christmas?” He asked when they reached the door of his flat. “We can get tea at that place you like.”

“I’ll think about it,” she helped him inside. “But it’s busy at school.”

Jane was apparently at university and didn’t have time for her dear old dad. She hoped that the foolish girl would realize what she was missing when she got the call that her father had died and put her priorities in order.

The flat was in a miserable state. The old man shuffled inside and sat down in a well-worn armchair and sighed.

“Do you want anything, da’? Tea?” She set her bag down and locked the door.

“They took my license. Can’t go to the shops,” he shook his head, reaching for a bottle by the chair.

He can buy booze, but not tea and biscuits. She sighed, entering the kitchen. The fridge only held an ancient bottle of milk and a rotten take-away container of chips. Her eyes were drawn to an article taped to the fridge and her resolve to take the man’s life shuddered.

_Two women killed in drunk-driving accident. Mother and daughter only victims in two-vehicle crash._

It was dated two years ago. She scanned the article, finding the man’s name. Francis Conner, 64, retired plumber. A small picture of a brown-haired girl and a darker haired woman was in the corner of the paper. He’d forgotten, or at least was drunk enough to forget.

Turning, she put on a large smile. “Da’, why don’t I run to the shop for you? I can get us a take away while I’m out.”

Francis turned away from his bottle to grin. “You’re a good girl, Jane.”

He handed her his wallet. She was surprised to find a great deal of cash inside. She held the tattered leather and weighed her options.

“I’ll be right back.”

Shoving the wallet into her pocket, she took his keys from the counter and locked the door behind her. It was odd to be standing in line at the local corner shop to buy food and even stranger to wait for two orders of chicken and chips. Everyone else in line was doing normal things. She was just pretending this was something she did all of the time.

She pushed her hunger down by her need to show this man a few hours of kindness.

Re-entering the apartment, she called out to him and he was sitting at the table. He’d set two places. There was a glass of white wine waiting for her. She smiled as she filled his fridge with bread, eggs, milk and lunch meat. She even bought a few cans of soup with an easy open top. She was surprised that things like that existed.

“It’s a shame that your mother is out,” he slurred as she put the chicken in front of him. “She’s away. In Brighton. To see her sister.”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded. “She called me this morning and said that you weren’t feeling well.”

He nodded, digging into the food. She carefully slid more pieces of chicken onto his plate from hers when he was distracted.

“I’ve been…forgetting things,” he rambled, taking a long drink of water that she had pressed in his hand. “But you’re here now, Janey. You can help your dear ol’ da’.”

His eyes looked filled with joy and memories and Rey felt tears coming to her eyes and she had to blink them back. That would give her away.

“Well,” she started, clearing her throat. “What do I go to school for?”

He grinned, pointing a chip at her. “You’re going to be a teacher. You’ve always been good with children.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “But it’s a lot of work. I’m so sorry I haven’t been around more.”

He studied her and frowned. “You look tired. Why don‘t you spend the night?”

“I think I might, da’,” she felt tears rise again when he reached for her hand. “Why don’t I help you to bed and then I’ll turn in.”

He gripped her hand with tears in his eyes. “It was so good to see you Jane. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, da’.”

She helped Francis to bed and undressed him. His laundry as scattered everywhere, piles on top of piles. He collapsed in the bed and was snoring in minutes. She checked her watch. It was only 8 p.m. She had the time.

Exploring the rest of the apartment, she found more and more bottles in every room, except for a room that was clearly Jane’s. She gleefully noticed a full closet and instantly shed her dirty and old clothes. She grabbed a black sweater and a pair of thick black pants and set them aside. They were her size so she searched through the closet for more clothes to take. Underwear was her primary goal. She loaded up on the poor dead girl’s bras and panties, shoving them into the empty places in her bag.

Finding the small washroom, she sighed at the state of it. But there was a built in washer and drier. Before she showered, she gathered up a load of shirts and pants for Francis. She shoved them into the washer and set it going before she set to moving to clean the rest of the apartment, not caring that she was doing it in her underwear. She tossed all of the empty bottles and old take-away containers into a large garbage bag. She could move through the apartment with speed and agility and by the time the washer pinged, she had turned the flat back into a home. The only time she stilled was on the family portrait on the mantel over the fireplace. It was Jane, Francis and his wife. Jane looked about twenty.

In the silence of the flat, Rey tried not to think about her parents or her past. They were dead before she died and had shown her no kindness. They didn’t deserve to be mourned. There were rules for this, but she didn’t always follow the rules.

She shoved the clothes into the drier and finally took the shower she had been craving all evening. Her hair and her body were still crusted with the idiot from last night’s blood. As she dried her self off, she tidied the washroom and tossed some of the expired medication away.

Despite being clean and having new clothes, she couldn’t contain her hunger forever. It was only by methodically cleaning and organizing the apartment that kept her from attacking the breathing body in the next room. She was forced to confront her need when she had folded the dried clothing.

She had done her part; there wasn't much more left to do but leave. Wincing, she took a number of bills from Francis’s wallet, but left most of it. Finding an old receipt, she scrawled a quick note on the back: _Love you forever, da’. Jane._

Grabbing her bag and the trash bag, she left the flat and headed into the night. Tossing the trash into the nearest bin, she waved down a cab. She gave the address from last night and tried to still her hands as the car wound through the city. Soon. She could eat soon. The cab dropped her and she let him keep the change.

Glancing up the medium-sized building, she frowned. A police notice was pinned to the door and she had to roll her eyes. As if they’d find her.

Hiding her bag in an alley, she started the climb. It went quickly, despite the chill in the air. The thrill of ending her hunger and ending a life pushed her on, driving away the feelings that had touched her only a half an hour ago. Most of the flats were quiet and dark. By the time she reached her goal, her mouth was open in anticipation.

But her plans on breaking in were halted in an instant.

Tilting her head, she studied the note that was waiting for her.

_They’re looking for you. Call me. 07908154863. Ben._

This wouldn't end tonight.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Lor San Tekka folded his hands on the desk of the editor's office and gave Ben an affirming grin, both eyes crinkling. The latest manuscript rested underneath his firm hands, affixed with annotated post-its and red ink in the margins. “This is great work. I still can’t believe that you’re American, the way you edit.”

Ben could finally smile in return. Up until that point, Tekka had left him in the reeds with most of his projects. The evaluation wouldn’t be for a week, but this was as good as it got, he guessed. He could almost finally breathe again until the full brunt of his assessment would come down. It would be okay. He had to believe that. “Thank you. I guess I’m versatile.”

“Tell me that when you’re handed something from Singapore,” Tekka laughed lightly and flipped through the folder on his desk. His office had almost too much light from the mid-morning London sun; the entire office did. There were too many windows and fake whiteness to the entire building. California had another sort of fakeness that wasn’t really comparable. The truth was that he was exhausted. Ben hadn’t slept well at the too-small bed at his mother’s last night. Her guest room was too cold and too cramped. He guessed it was part of her not wanting people to stay more than one evening.

“I can learn,” Ben tried to relax, despite how tired he felt. He still was anticipating coming home to a smashed balcony window and police everywhere. It was hard to shake the feeling and he could feel his boss picking up on it.

“But is everything fine with you, then?” Tekka eyed him. He knew everything. He was one of the few people that knew what Ben had fought through; this was the man that his mother had leaned on to get him this job. But he had proved himself; hadn’t he?

“I’m fighting the seasons,” he sighed. “It gets dark here really early.”

“Ah, then I wouldn’t recommend moving further north,” Tekka’s eyes creased with a grin. “It only gets worse.”

Ben smiled, hoping that the question would fade with time. “I’ll have to trust you on that.”

“As you should.”

Tekka looked through his papers and Ben frowned at the line of sweat dripping down the side of the older man’s face. The office was freezing — most people were walking around in heavy cardigans. His superior had looked pale all morning and now he could see another bead of sweat at the start of his forehead. Tekka had been steady and solid, so this seemed off.

“But I think I have something different for you,” Tekka said as he loosened his collar. “There’s a non-fiction book I want you to work on. It’s somewhere in between fiction and non-fiction, really, and I’ve had trouble finding it a home. The first draft is a disaster. But I trust your hands.”

He slid the manuscript across the desk and Ben picked it up, flipping through the first few pages before raising an eyebrow. “ _Hunting the Immortal_?”

Tekka shrugged, leaning back in his chair. He slowly blinked his eyes and took a moment to reply. “The author makes some…interesting claims. He’ll be here tomorrow so you can…”

He trailed off, mumbling something in coherent. Ben’s shoulders went rigid and he felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw Tekka look a shade paler in an instant. “I think I can handle it…but, uh…”

Tekka’s eyes turned from gazing out the window and looked unfocused. “What?”

“You look…”

Ben couldn’t complete his sentence as his boss’s eyes rolled back in his head and slumped down in his chair. The Monday morning office routine was suddenly broken by Ben’s already on-edge mind being overwhelmed by the intensity of seeing his boss collapsing before his eyes. He didn’t react for a second, his heart beating in his throat.

And he knew he would regret it.

After one deep breath, he called out for Tekka’s secretary.

 

-=-

 

Ben hated hospitals. Despite which country it was in, it was always the same.

It smelt the same. There were the same people. Rewrite the layout and how you should pay, it didn’t matter. It was always the same.

He could already feel his skin itching.

He had rode in the ambulance with Tekka to the hospital. He let his mind go the second they stepped inside. Everything felt like a white blur until they got to the emergency room, or whatever it was called here. Why wouldn’t anyone else ride with him? He built up an imagined hate for his officemates in the ride over as he held the old man’s hand and promised to call his family. What the hell was this?

His suit coat sat forgotten beside him as his leg shook. He glanced up at the nurse’s station and chewed on the inside of his mouth. Tekka’s daughter had arrived a half an hour ago and he was about to leave, but something made him wait. He’d been there the rest of the day and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should wait.

Finally giving in to his impatience, he strolled up to the desk. “Hey, do you know anything about Lor San Tekka?”

The young blonde woman at the desk looked up from her paperwork. “I can check for you. Have a seat.”

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want that seat anymore.

She was dialling the phone when he cleared his throat.

“Is there a coffee machine or something around here?” He tried to sound charming, but felt mostly awkward.

The young woman looked at him with a slight wink, her lips quirking. “There is one, but it’s broken. Take the lift up to four. There’s a break room up there. You can ask one of the girls to help you.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at her, but rolled his eyes when his back was to her. Grabbing his suit coat he finally groaned internally. His winter jacket was still back at the office. He’d have to call someone to get it for him. He’d also need that manuscript to be prepared for the meeting tomorrow morning.

He scratched the back of his neck, feeling heat rise to his face as he strode towards the elevator. Punching in the floor number, he tried to breathe.

There were too many temptations in a hospital.

He should really just go home.

But he wanted coffee, he told himself.

The door opened to the geriatrics wing. After rolling up his sleeves, he pumped hand sanitizer onto his palms. He briefly enjoyed the sting from a forgotten paper cut, shuddering lightly. The floor was lowly lit as he pushed through the glass doors, glancing around for the break room. There were many closed doors and misleading signs, leading him nowhere. Every time he passed an open door, he popped his head inside. Inwardly, he wasn’t looking for coffee. His old habits were drawing him towards any unlocked cabinet.

Shaking his head, he spotted the sign for the _Staff_ and took the few long strides to reach it. Two older women were eating biscuits, chatting when he entered the doorway.

“Hey,” he pocketed his hands. “The nurse downstairs said that there was coffee here.”

“Oh,” a plump brunette said, standing and wiping her hands on her scrubs. “That must have been Annette. She called up here to say that your friend is staying over night, but should be fine. I’ll get you a cup.”

He took a careful step inside and leaned against the counter of the small room. “Thanks.”

She poured the coffee from an ancient glass carafe into a paper mug and handed it to him. “Has it been a long day?”

He nodded, accepting the lukewarm black liquid. “My boss collapsed at work. I’ve been here all day trying to get answers.”

“I think you should go home,” the brunette smiled and tilted her head. “He’ll be fine.”

Taking a sip, he held back his grimace. “Yeah, I think I will. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Have a good night,” she replied, returning to her seat at the dingy table.

He heard their conversation in the distance as he stepped back into the hallway. Glancing down at his shoes, he shook his head as he tried to plan out his trip back to the office.

A clattering from down the hall made his head shoot up.

Standing in hospital scrubs, her hair in a tight ponytail, was the girl from his balcony. She was scrambling to snatch up her papers as he was instantly striding towards her, paper cup forgotten on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed, already backing up before all of her things were in her hands.

“Wait, you work here?” He stretched out his hand to snatch up a paper that had floated a meter out of her reach. He only had a few more steps to reach her and could see the anger in her eyes. “I’ll help you, hold on.”

He could hear her breathing quicken. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

He was a step away from her and she snatched the last paper from his hand. She glared at him, and he couldn’t understand why.

“Did you get my message?”

“Don’t be daft,” she took another step back as he moved forward. “Why would…I don’t know who you are.”

He almost smiled. “I think that it’s too late to lie now.”

She bit her lip. “Fine. Yes. Thank you for the warning. You can leave now, I have work to do.”

She tried to brush by him but he reached out to stop her, gripping her arm lightly. She looked small, but her arm was hard and firm when he closed his hand around it. The glare she gave him made him step back instantly. It seemed to pierce through his eyes and into his thoughts. He almost shuddered as he tried to find his voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

Her hazel eyes glittered in the dull neon lamps that lit the hall. She took a slow step back, still eyeing him before glancing down at her papers.

He had her, so what was he going to do with her?

“Did you really kill that man?” He asked and instantly saw her roll her eyes.

“I can’t…” she sighed. She looked furious as she jammed the papers together and turned and shoved it into a box outside a random room. “I can’t talk about that here. Come on.”

He was actually surprised when she grabbed his upper arm and led him to a stairwell. She swiped a keycard and he caught sight of her name: _Claire._

She shoved him into the darkened vertical space, off pastel colours dampened by artificial light. Her skin was pale and her hand was cold as she let go him. It still tingled his skin as he took her in. 

“What you saw, you should just forget,” she met his eyes and then glanced away, putting space between them.

She was almost a head shorter than he was. Dressing in scrubs, her small frame seemed to swim in the fabric. There was no perfume, only a soft scent of old antiseptic and the elderly. She reminded him of someone who he used to know, he decided. That’s what was drawing him to her. There must have been some girl at some time who looked like her. Nothing else could explain this.

“Why did you kill him?” He asked. “Did he hurt you?”

She quirked a small, angry smile. “You really don’t know anything about me, so why do you care?”

Meeting his eyes again, he saw an annoyed line had formed across her forehead. She was pretty, really beautiful. Even with her hair pulled back and with no makeup, he was attracted to her. That could be it. The intensity of her gaze on the balcony had drawn him in and now he was standing a step away from her.

He fought against the danger that tainted her. The dark crimson of a man’s blood on her mouth flashed in his mind as she parted her lips to sigh.

“Ben,” she said firmly. _So she had been by his apartment_. “You should forget me. It would be for the best. I…I’m not the kind of person you want to get to know.”

“What if I want to know you?” He dared to take a step forward and she instantly backed away. Her nostrils flared in the second that he came closer and he saw her eyes dart from side to side. What was she afraid of?

He had her backed against the wall now and saw her shoulders stiffen but her sharp eyes snap down to his rolled up sleeves. She had his arm in an iron grip before he could react, turning his forearm up with a strength that he couldn’t resist.

“If that’s what you’re looking for, I’m not going to help you,” she glared, shoving his arm aside violently. He felt the contempt in her voice and felt his anger rising.

“I’m over that,” he said, matching her tone. Office life had made him soft. This girl wasn’t going to back down to that person. He rose up to his full height and gazed down at her. “Who are you?”

“You don’t want to know me. I’m no one," her voice was low as she answered. "No one that you want to know."

Her mouth quivered slightly as she spoke, drawing his eyes to it. He didn’t understand what was making him crave knowing her. Her face, her eyes, her body stance made her irresistible to him. It was like tasting the full extent of a new drug; the balcony had been just a taste and now he had a real hit.

He had her cornered when the door to the stairwell burst open. The brunette from the break room stood and glared at the girl and then at him.

“What’s happening here?”

“Nothing,” she answered, shoving him to move towards the door. “He just needed directions.”

She fled and he was trapped under the eyes of the older woman. He finally nodded when she pointed with a firm hand downwards.

As he took the stairs two at a time, he wasn’t sure where his feet were leading him, but he felt truly alive for the first time in months.

He had to find her again. And now he knew where she worked.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

With bitter anger, Rey shoved the hospital scrubs into the trash bin. The girl's phone followed, along with her nametag. She snarled at how full the bin was and punched down the fabric. Her kindness and weakness had left that man alive and now he’d cost her a paycheque. There was no way she’d go back to the hospital tomorrow. It was time for Claire to truly disappear.

The winter air was crisp as night was slowly shifting towards dawn. She had ducked out before the shift ended, still worried that he would appear again out of nowhere. There were too many hours spent at the threat of his return that she couldn’t take it any longer. What was he even doing there? How had he found her?

She hadn’t fed. It weighed on her. The weak bodies at the hospital were tempting, but she didn’t want to risk further discovery. What did he want with her? She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and made her way down the empty street. She needed to eat before she found somewhere to rest. The warehouse would have to do again for tonight.

Still seething with anger at the soft brown eyes that haunted her memories, she scanned for any sign of life and an opportunity to snuff it out.

Breathing deeply, she searched for anything human in the air. Killing would help rid her of that damned man ruining a decent stay at a hotel for a week.

Her sharp ears heard the shuffling of a body in an alley. Slowing her pace, she crept around the corner to peer into the darkness. The short lane reeked of human waste and refuse. There was another forgotten life there, left on the fringes of shopping districts and up-scale restaurants. She could hear a man’s breathing as she silently skulked into the darkness, letting her eyes narrow and focus through the night air.

Resting against a wall and wrapped in a sleeping back was a sleeping form. She could only see the head and the tender flesh of his neck shone out at her; she could almost taste his pulse in the air. She avoided the face. She wanted to imagine it was that man _Ben_ instead of this stranger. His time would come; now, she needed to release her anger and cure her pulsing need to feed.

No longer silent, she lunged at the sleeping man, driving her now-extended fangs instantly into the visible flesh of his neck. She groaned as the man gasped awake as she tasted his blood spilling into her mouth. It was warm and thick and she nearly forgot to pin him down as the life filled her. With vicious strength, she grabbed the man’s arms and forced him to the ground. He was drunk, she could taste it in his blood, and the fighting quickly faded into dull pleas that escaped his mouth. The sound washed into nothingness, dying in the air as life left his body. His heartbeat was in her mouth and she moaned at the sensation.

“Oy, what’s going on here?” A sudden voice ripped her attention away from her kill.

Her eyes snapped up. A shadowed form loomed at the end of the alleyway. She couldn’t make out the face but hissed at the figure, removing her lips from the warm flesh.

“None of your business,” she shouted.

The other man took two long strides forward and she shoved her prey away from her to stand. Her face felt warm and deliciously wet with his crimson existence. She glared as the man neared; she finally noticed the small dog at his side and the leash in his hands.

She’d let the dog live.

He didn’t have time to react; her swiftness was easier to call upon once she’d fed. The world would blur to a near stop as she struck; the alley, already frozen by the air, truly paused for her. Sinking her teeth into the dog-walker, her excitement turned into frenzy. He screamed and clawed at her and she bit harder, sucking greedily at his flesh. In the dim light, she met his panicked eyes as he dropped to his knees under her force. His blood was sweater, not dulled by drugs and alcohol.

This is how Ben would taste, she decided. And this was how he was going to die as well.

She brought the interloper to the brink of death, his gasps getting weaker, when she finally detatched. She stumbled backwards, growling at the dying figure on the sidewalk. She hadn’t heard the dog barking until the ringing in her ears faded.

The damned dog would wake someone.

The police would be coming.

She had to move.

Glad not to have her bag with her, she sprinted down the street. There would be no time to take a taxi or anything else. The warehouse was too far; she’d have to improvise. Her dead heart was beating stronger as she ran, feeling the street slow around her. The blood of the two men coursed through her veins and she focused on the joy that it brought instead of the lingering dread of their discoveries. No one was permanently forgotten; there was always someone looking for answers. She had them, but those feelings helped no one. The men were dead and she was still walking. This was how it had to be.

This was her life.

Whatever it was.

The nearing of dawn started to itch at her. It would be coming soon.

There was no time.

The distant cry of police sirens hit her ears as she skidded to a stop. A basement workshop, nestled beneath a shop, had a darkened, opened window. There was a dull scent of burning whispering through the air and the sill was slightly charred. She’d have to take a chance; she felt her body stiffen as she slipped through the small opening.

It was mostly smoke damage, she noted as the room cleared in her eyes. It was an older workshop and she shifted her eyes for anything to hide in where she wouldn’t be found.

Rounding a corner she jolted. In the darkness, a large man was resting against the wall, a needle jabbed into his bare forearm. She didn’t have _time_ for this.

“Who’re you?” He slurred. “What are you doin’ here?”

“I…” she stammered as the man rose up to his full height. The nearing of dawn was weakening her. She could still overpower and kill him but as the sky started to warm, she’d be vulnerable. “I’m just looking for somewhere to crash.”

His head tilted to one side and he smirked at her, withdrawing the syringe with a hiss. “I think you’ve found it. You want some?”

“I’m good,” she tried to smile but her lips were tight. “Is it safe here?”

“Just you and me, sweetheart.”

She cringed but still took a steady step forward, not wanting to back down. Her eyes narrowed, trying to draw him into her thoughts but found the annoying resistance that drugs gave the human mind. It was annoying in the 60s, and then it became a blur of people unaware of their mortality whose blood left her woozy the day after. She just needed to sleep. This man wouldn’t stand in her way.

“I’m not your sweetheart,” she hissed, letting her fangs snap out as she glared at him. “I don’t care who you are, but go now.”

He swayed from side to side, and she tried to hide her panic. He wasn’t backing down.

She had few weaknesses and she thought that she had sized them all up.

Until her eyes spotted the chain around his neck.

Even in the dull light she saw a grey tone glint in her eyes.

But he didn’t know.

She had to kill him and find some hole to crawl into and sleep. It filled her mind as she screamed in rage and lunged at him, instantly cringing at the sting of his necklace as her hands gripped at his neck as her bite sought his veins. He didn’t know what he was fighting against, but still fought dumbly against her. She was too tired to drink and just wanted to kill. Her week had been destroyed by a dumb _boy_ and now it was being driven into the ground by a drug addict.

In the middle of her thought, her victim rose against her.

That didn’t happen.

But it did.

Even in his state, he saw her small hands avoiding his chest.

And then they moved against her.

With a scream, she was shocked back as he pressed his necklace to her flesh. Her fangs were still out, his blood streaming down her face, but she still yelled at him in fury as he dumbly stumbled forward.

“I got you, you fucker,” he gasped. “I _got you_.”

He ripped the necklace from his body and seemed to smile. His blood had tasted vile and she felt her head start to spin from the annoyance of drugs. She needed to be there. She was too old for this.

But he was still staring her down, making the low-lit space feel alive. She couldn’t run. She could only fight.

He was on her in a second and her response meant that her wrists burnt, feeling the silver dig into her flesh. She was screaming against it, but he was laughing. The beat was driving in the back of her mind: dawn was coming. And now she was trapped.

There was only an hour left.

This idiot understood her more than any other crackhead.

She finally gripped a forgotten beer bottle and smashed the man against the face. His blood blotted to her lip and she tasted it with glee before sprinting to a dark corner.

Her hand drove into her pocket.

There was only one phone left.

And it had _that man_ Ben’s number in it.

As she dodged through a forgotten storeroom, so punched send.

Why was she calling him?

It was the only number that she had.

And she was going to die if someone didn’t save her.

The crackhead was enraged, screaming at her as she kicked at him, pushing back into the underground office. This would be perfect if he wasn’t here. The tone finally sprung to life and a sleepy voice answered as she kicked against a man on fire.

“Huh?”

“Ben! Wake up!” She yelled into the phone. “Six blocks from your flat. Downstairs! Come now. Find me!”

That was all she could manage before the mobile was knocked from her hands. The crackhead held his silver in his hands and seemed to laugh at her without breathing. She silently gave up on life on that moment. 300 years was enough. On her back she kicked again, trying to avoid the burning from the man’s hands.

“You’re just a little girl!” The man screamed, tossing the chain at her. The second it hit her, it made every pain from the last centuries draw into a singular point. She screamed at him, forcing the charm away from her with cautious hands. He narrowed in on her, crazed in his discovery of her weakness. He had no idea what he had found. He should die tonight. And now she was on the brink of meeting the maker.

He closed in on her, in the dull light of distant candles, and she tried to place herself in time and space.

She’d seen so much.

She’d left the workhouse.

She’d seen the industrial revolution.

She’d seen the horrors of war.

But then she saw a nation and continent rise and unify with the world.

And then it fell apart again.

And every human life that she had taken during that time came back to her in those memories. She would have breathed, if her had lungs worked.

He rose up, blind anger seizing him and she was prepared to meet the true end. She’d lived long enough and hadn’t been that good in the life after death. She tasted the lingering taste of the other men’s blood on her lips and let the realization that the dawn would come and she’d be gone.

And then the room went red; her saviour, the man who she hated, smashed the crackhead in the head with a hammer. There were more questions than answers and she had no time. She finally looked down at her body and her clothes when she felt foreign eyes on her. Her dead lungs finally steadied and she tried to lift herself from the floor.

“Claire, what….what is this?” That man, this man, _Ben_ , glared at her. Her body was fading. She needed to sleep.

“Take me home,” she pleaded. “Dark. Somewhere dark. No light.”

He didn’t seem to react. She could smell the blood on his hands and would have drank from it if she didn’t feel the coming dawn. She dully lifted her phone, showing him that it was _her_ and then fading out.

Then, there were strong arms taking her.

She hated people.

But suddenly, there was someone taking her somewhere.

The dawn was coming. The panic was rising in her throat. She was somewhere else. In between the panic, she felt her body being lugged up a flight of stairs. Where was she? She could only feel death clenching at her throat. 

“The blinds,” She mumbled. She didn’t know where she was. She had only felt strong hands and tasted sweat in the air. Was she hurt? She needed to sleep. “ _Close them_.”

She was nestled in a bed, that part was clear. She had tasted too many tainted strains of blood tonight. This wasn’t where she should be. She should be anywhere else.

But strong hands bulled up a quilt to her neck as she gasped.

“No light,” she managed to say.

The last thing that she heard was a deep voice say that _he could do that_.

She was going to die if he didn’t. And she accepted it.

She was going to die that night. Her weakness had cost her that.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Ben’s eyes itched and his head slumped again towards his desk. Again. Shaking himself awake, he stood and forced himself to walk to the coffee machine. The machine gurgled to life and he took a moment to lean against the scuffed break room table. 

He’d made it to the office. He was going to make the meeting.

The coffee pot beeped and he opened his eyes. Mechanically filling his mug, he sipped at the bitter liquid and hissed at the taste. At least it would keep him awake. He had so much to do that day that he should be moving with firm and focused thoughts.

But his mind was back at his apartment.

She seemed broken and tattered, the body of a girl being destroyed by a man out of his mind. She looked like she was dying as he pinned dark sheets with fumbling hands over his blinds. She was breathing, but also not at the same time. It was like she was sucking in air only to taste it. He had closed the door to his bedroom and panicked for a second before remembering that he had a spare suit at the office. He could wear the thrown-together outfit there in the morning.

Numbly walking back to his office, he went over the details of that morning again. He’d never ran so fast in his life, listening for anything in the dense quiet of the night. It took him several streets to find _anywhere_ that might look like what she had shouted at him. But the details slowly came to his mind like he'd walked the path before. And then he’d found her and was instantly cast completely out of sleep; this wasn’t a dream.

After only a couple of hours of sleep on the couch, he noticed the sun starting to rise and blinked awake. He was about to check on her, but glanced at his phone to check the time first.

 _Don’t open the door until it is night_.

His hand had brushed the door handle and he huffed. He’d rescued her and this was the thanks he got. At least she wasn’t dead, or hadn’t been dead according to the time stamp from a half another ago.

And then he showered and pulled on the clothes that he had thrown on before rushing out into the night, trying to hide the blood spatter with this coat.

Standing from his desk, forcing himself to wake up more, he leaned against the doorframe. Tekka’s office door was closed and the lights were dark, taunting him down the hall. The entire office was only sputtering to life when he arrived too early and on too little sleep. He changed in the dull lights of the men’s restroom and noticed the bags under his eyes with a deep sigh. It was almost a good thing that his boss wasn’t there. Other coworkers would be, but he could avoid them.

This was going to be a long day.

The only thing that he had to do was meet with the author. The manuscript sat on his desk. Turning away from the hall, he sat down heavily in his chair. He should have worked harder that morning. He should have done something other than go over the smell of blood on her clothes. Forcing himself into the task, he had managed to read the first few pages before exhaustion took hold. He felt like he was jetlagged; the journey to her would nag at him all day.

Why had he done that? Why did he risk his life for a voice on the phone who he’d only met twice? And the first time she had clearly just slaughtered his upstairs neighbour. He wouldn’t describe himself as a warm person, but wasn’t unhelpful either. It was like another force was pulling him from his flat into the night air to search for someone he might not find. But that same feeling had made him turn down the darkened streets until his path was right.

Yawning, he checked his watch. The rest of office was filled with life now; Jessika gave him a firm glare from the hall, several manuscripts in hand, before he quickly turned away, trying to avoid her gaze from his small office. There were things he needed to do and talking to anyone but the client was on the top of his list.

Too tired to do anything more than skim the pages, he decided to fake his way through the meeting. The author would arrive in fifteen minutes so he didn’t have much more time to do anything but try to wake up. What he managed to read felt dull but also odd. This initial draft, or maybe it was a second one, was rambling and needed to be reworked into whatever narrative was nestled in the rest of the script. Why was this on his desk? Weren’t there other projects he could work on?

Wandering down the hall, he smoothed his hair to avoid the eyes of another colleague. All he wanted to do was go home. More importantly, he just wanted to go back to California. The exhaustion left him with the bitter taste of detoxing and he wanted to find a hole he could crawl into and disappear.

He nearly jumped when he saw a dark-haired man waiting for him in the cooly-lit conference room, jotting down notes in a small black book.

“You’re early,” he said, stumbling in the doorway. “Or maybe I’m late.”

The man smirked as he looked up. “No, no it’s me that’s early. Hey, Poe Dameron.”

“Ben Solo.” He extended his hand as the man stood from the table. He had wondered about the style of English in the few pages that he had skimmed and was glad that the prose were only because the other man was also American. It would be easier to work out. But why was he pitching this book to British publishing house?

“I noticed that your boss isn’t here,” Poe gestured with his head before sitting down. He was already taking charge. That didn’t sit well with him. He was the author of a strange manuscript; this was him doing him a favour.

He pursed his lips as he sat down, sitting up straighter. “He had some sort of heart attack yesterday. His secretary must have told you when you got here.”

“I wasn’t really listening,” he shrugged, leaning back. Again, it was a sign of superiority. He’d already sized him up and that made the back of his neck itch.

He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “To be honest, I didn’t have time to read through your manuscript.”

Poe shrugged. Ben took in what he was wearing and he frowned. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and grey suit. No tie. His hair was slicked back and he seemed almost bored to be there. It bothered him and he couldn’t place why. Even his cologne felt off.

“Hey, if your boss had a heart attack, I get that,” he answered, pulling another copy of the manuscript from his bag on the floor. “I can walk you through it.”

“That’s usually how these first meetings go,” he said coolly. “Although normally I’m more prepared.”

“Yeah, you look kind a rough,” Poe answered with a smirk. “Must have been chaos here yesterday.”

“Something like that.” He glanced down and opened the script to a random page. He eyed the words and his eyes felt heavy again. “So this is an autobiography?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve embellished some stuff, but it’s all true. But a few details are tweaked so that they’re not as boring.” Poe glanced across the table and found the page that Ben was looking at. “Oh yeah, in this chapter is where I get to the point.”

“It shouldn’t take you one-hundred pages to get to the point,” Ben nearly snapped, suddenly thankful he looked exhausted and could blame it on that.

“But I get there eventually.”

He sighed and looked down at the page. He read through the first few lines of the chapter and the words slightly blurred on the page.

 _I’d been hunting this vampire for months and finally tracked him down to a backroom in a Paris stripclub. It smelled like garbage and death, and that’s when I knew I’d got him_.

He slowly looked up to Poe’s smug expression.

“This is a book…about hunting vampires?”

“Yeah,” Poe’s smirk grew to a grin. “It’s what I do.”

He nearly openly groaned as he rested his hand on the pages. “Is this a joke?”

Leaning forward, Poe shook his head. “You really haven’t read my book.”

He could only meet his eyes and try not to glare. “It landed on my desk when I was taking my boss to the hospital. There wasn’t time to read it.”

“Then let me tell you about it,” Poe answered. “My great grandfather learned that there were creatures with a greater power than we possess. It’s like they say in all the myths; allergic to sunlight and silver, can kill you with fangs that will rip open your flesh for your blood. They look like us before they attack, and when they do, you only have minutes to realize what they are. There are vampires, and they kill and hunt and need to be wiped out.”

The other man had slowly formed his hand into a fist and spoke with a rising conviction. Ben looked at him for a long, silent moment before looking back down at the pages. He slowly flipped through the words, his heartbeat starting to quicken. The words started to echo that girl, his girl. The look in her eyes on the balcony. Her weakness from the fight with the junkie. Not able to see the sun…He looked up suddenly and closed the manuscript.

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr Dameron.” He stood and extended his hand. “I’ll be in touch about editing and the timeline for publication.”

 

-=-

 

Ben got home far later than he intended. It was well after seven. His hands felt weak when he unlocked the door and stepped into his apartment.

He was greeted by the sight of the girl, sitting on his couch, on his computer, wearing one of his flannel shirts.

He slumped against the closed door and sighed. That made her finally look up.

“Oh, you’re home.” She gave him a light nod and then turned back to his laptop.

Swallowing, he locked his door.

“You’re alive,” was all that he could say. “What are you doing?”

She shrugged as he slipped out of his coat, hanging it beside the door.

“Looking for a place to stay.” She kept her eyes on the screen.

He finally took a long step inside after slipping off his shoes.

“You don’t have anywhere to stay?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t have any money. You cost me that job.”

Shaking his head, he went into his kitchen. He noticed how she had actually done the dishes and tidied up what he had intended to clean that evening. Opening the fridge, he grabbed the first thing that came to his hand: a beer. He heard her pad into the kitchen and looked up as he clinked off the cap.

She was only wearing one of his shirts, no leggings or pants. The shirt hung long on her, reaching just down to her upper thighs, but he was distracted by her knees. She’d been scratched and cut up, bleeding and burnt last night. Now, her flesh was pristine and white. Her hair was still damp from the shower and he could smell his shampoo on her as she took a step forward.

“I didn’t mean to,” he tried to have a light tone but also drowned his apprehension with a long sip of beer. Why was he apologizing? Exhaustion combined with London made him weak. Throw a strange girl on top, and he was done.

She eyed him, leaning against the counter. “Why were you following me?”

He almost laughed. “You can thank me for saving you first, before you accuse me of that.”

She folded her arms and licked her lips. Her face shifted to a frown and she finally nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stood in his cold kitchen for a few awkward minutes before he finally cleared his throat.

“Why did you kill my neighbour?”

Her eyes were instantly angry but she seemed to inhale and rethink what she was about to say. With lingering resentment in her eyes, she glared at the off-white wall by his fridge.

“I had to.”

“Why.”

“Do we need to talk about this now?”

He gripped the bottle tighter and started to lose his patience. He set the flask down firmly on the counter beside her and felt exhaustion finally peak in his chest.

“Do you _know_ what happened last night? Fuck, earlier this morning? I had to work today, did you _know_ that? And now you’re…you’re wearing my clothes and using my computer? What the fuck, Claire?”

She blinked, looking slightly shocked for a moment before recovering. “That’s not my name.”

“Then what _is_ your name?” He was tired and hungry and the details of Dameron’s manuscript kept playing out in his mind. He had spent the rest of the day bouncing between meetings and digging through the weak but also detailed text. It all started to make sense, but it shouldn’t.

He’d seen so much in his life that it shouldn’t be possible. He’d lived in the gutter and struggled on the streets. He’d never met anyone like her before, but maybe he was only seeing clearly for the first time in his life.

She gently, if one could call it that, met his eyes. “I’m Rey.”

“Why was your name Claire at the hospital?”

“Claire…was a girl. A girl who I killed.”

The words hung in the air and he took a long— _long_ —drink.

“Why?”

“Why do you need to know?”

His eyes firmed. “You’re in my home. The police are looking for you. I need to know.”

Her mouth briefly opened and then snapped shut again. “That reminds me.”

She quickly turned and he caught a glimpse of her ass, hardly peeking out from below his shirt, as she plucked a small card off of the table.

“The bobbies must have been by today,” she said, handing him Hux’s card. He was there _again_. “They…want to talk to you.”

Her fingers were cold as she brushed his hand. But her skin was also delicate and soft in the hint of a touch. Her body had been firm in his arms that morning, despite her apparent injuries. But now she was standing there, without a cut or knick. He couldn’t help that his mind went back again to what Dameron described. How quickly they healed, how cool their flesh was. How they only pretended to breathe.

He sucked in a long breath. “They should probably talk to _you_.”

Her eyes darted away and she shook her head. “But…but you don’t want to do that.”

He frowned. There was something that he wanted to say, but it . “No.”

She looked up and her smile hit her eyes in a way that made him reach for his bottle again. “Thank you.”

Sighing, he tried to shake his exhaustion. “Look…I need to order some food. Do you want anything?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I…um.”

He had turned his back to her, snatching a take-away menu off the fridge, and had to glance over his shoulder. “What?”

Rey’s face turned serious again, losing the beautiful smile that had made his heart deceive him. He had already made mistakes in follow her, being intrigued my her. Now she was standing in his kitchen, wearing only one of his shirts.

“I have to run an errand but…” she slowly stepped forward, making him turn. She looked up at him, now only a step away. “I couldn’t find anywhere to stay.”

“You want to stay here?” He narrowed his eyes. “Rey, the cops are going to come back.”

Her eyes softened and she tucked a strand of still-damp hair behind her ear. She frowned lightly and he felt drawn into her eyes; they were brown, almost hazel. He couldn’t place the colour in another face. She was standing so close now that he saw the hints of freckles and the echoes of the dimples he’d fallen into before. But she still bore the face of the red-mouthed woman, creeping on his balcony; now she was real. Her lips parted and he rapidly studied her mouth. There were normal teeth there. His head nearly spun with confusion.

“Fine,” he said with a glare, turning away to move into the lounge. “Stay here.”

He had slumped down on his couch before she could reply.

Her bare feet crossed the floor to stand at the edge of the kitchen. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.”

She folded her arms and sighed. “Look I…I won’t be gone long. I’ll pick up dinner on the way. What do you want?”

He slowly sipped his drink again. “Get Chinese. I don’t care what.”

She looked down at her feet.

“You need money,” he replied with a sigh and had to roll his eyes. “Don’t you?”

“Sort of.”

Groaning to himself, he reached for his wallet and tossed it at her. It landed hard against her chest and her quick hands gripped it.

“Take whatever.”

She smirked at him again, but he could feel a falcity in the look. Her words were etched with the same resonance. “Thank you. Again.”

Swallowing a long, cold drink of beer, he tried to find words but could only focus on her hands, clutching the brown leather. His face settled into a grim line. “Can you do me one thing?”

She quirked her brown head, eyes glittering in the artificial light of his flat. He kept studying how she moved, how she spoke. She always looked like she wanted to say something else every time that she spoke, like an indecisive child. How could she kill a man? “What?”

“If you’re going to stay here can you not…kill me?”

Rey looked first at his wallet, then up at him. Slowly, she set his wallet down on the coffee table and took a tentative step towards him. He kept his face even as she reached up to undo the top button of his red-plaid sweater. Her delicate collar bone emerged as the collar was loosened, showing more of her ivory skin. She was pale and perfect, thin but not as fragile as the body he’d lugged up the stairs that morning. It wasn't that long ago, and she was whole again. She wasn’t like any of the bone-thin rails he used to curl up with in moments of despair. This was just an enticing, desperate young woman, not the monster from Dameron’s story. But he’d seen the blood on her mouth. He knew that she’d killed and he'd gravely injured a man for her, pulling him down into a dark game that he shouldn't play. He was far from that person who he used to be. The taste of danger, however, was what was pulling him onward and honestly was what made him run out into the dark London morning to find. His blood was telling him to run, but his body told him to stay. He still watched her undressing and felt his face start to warm. Her fingers dipped to the second button, revealing more of her bare chest. She was about to start on the third button and he had to clear his throat.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Glancing up, she looked slightly confused and her mouth straightened again. Her eyes narrowed as she spoke again. “I wanted to kill you. I even planned on it.”

He clutched the bottle, eyeing her movements. “What changed?”

Her eyes darkened for a moment and her hands still opened the second button. “I…still haven’t made up my mind yet.”

She turned then and stalked off towards his bedroom. He sat still, eyeing the space that she’d vacated.

He felt frozen in place until she returned, tugging on her torn trousers, still wearing his shirt.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“The apartment keys are in my jacket pocket,” he was saying before he could think.

She nodded and instead of just taking the keys, he slipped on his coat and was out the door before he could breathe again.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Rey left the apartment with nowhere really to go, but the money in her hand would guide her. She glanced down at herself with a deep sigh. She was wearing his clothes, _his smell_ , and it should disgust her. Instead, she found her heart growing fond of his awkward musk. He’d been drawn to her by her own thoughts, pulling him towards her. He was only too dumb to realize it.

Shrugging, she heading down the hall and down the stairs, determined to retrieve her meagre possessions and get a hold of herself. She glanced at the mailboxes and caught his last name. Frowning, she traced the flimsy paper, glued to the box. The late evening alone to herself in his apartment had taught her so much more about this Ben Solo.

He thought that he was a mystery, but he was just a man.

First, she had to eat. Seeing him in that apartment had nearly pushed her to a brink of hunger. She’d had to fake disinterest, pressing on his mind to get what she wanted. He was just a man—a handsome, stubborn, and damaged man—but she needed to ignore all of that.

She wouldn’t kill him just yet.

Stalking down the street, she hugged his down-filled coat closer to her body, feigning feeling true cold. Everyone else was bundled up, protecting themselves from the November chill. Rain had started to drizzle from the sky, wiping away the last of the snow. It was London, after all. Her mind drifted to the darkened and ashy shies from more than a century ago, when the smells would make people pull handkerchiefs from their pockets to cover their mouths and scoff at the blight that was coal. People tasted fouler then. Not like now.

Shifting her eyes, she looked for anyone alone or exhausted. She fingered his wallet and grinned when she found his Oyster card. The night just got so much easier.

Slipping down to the nearest tube station, she glanced around with softer eyes. _There_. Three young men hung near the platform, waiting for the same train that she was about to take. Smirking, she turned away briefly to undo the buttons on Ben’s shirt. She looked like a soft, nineteen-year-old runaway. These tossers would pick up on her tussled hair and desperate look.

“Hey, can I bum a fag,” she said lightly, sidling up to them.

One of the men, with bright blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair, turned first. “No smoking down here, love. Where are you headin’?”

“Dunno,” she folded her arms. “Somewhere where I can get a smoke?”

“I hear ya’,” the second boy answered, glancing up to check the time. “Trains are always bloody late.”

“Are you looking to party, doll?” The third man asked, looking her up and down. “Daddy not waitin’ up for ya?”

She had them. They were in her hand. “I know a place. I’m just heading there to pick up my things.”

The third man, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen, lifted his bag. “We’re out on the town. Show us a good time, sweetie.”

She hardly had to press on their thoughts to get them to follow her onto the train and down the streets to her abandoned warehouse. They were scoffing and laughing the entire way, offering her cigarettes that she awkwardly pretended to puff at. They were sharing beers from mystery man’s bag and openly laughed when they reached their destination.

“What a sight!” The second man, the dirty blonde with bad teeth, exclaimed. “This where you live?”

She shrugged, slipping into the broken window for what she hoped was the last time. “For now. Are you coming?”

They jostled to follow her, laughing the entire time. She slipped off her jacket and tied up her shirt as her back was turned. They tumbled down to join her on the empty floor as she searched for her things. Her bag still sat in the corner, thankfully untouched. She turned as they were sitting down, turning on their phones to light the way.

“What _was_ this place?” Blonde asked.

“I think that it was an old office, or something,” she shrugged, playing with her hair. “So who wants to party?”

They exchanged mutual, dumb, looks and she instantly took her chance. With decreased speed, but still normal strength, she launched herself at the first idiot. Her teeth and mouth were thirsty, the hunger driven wild over the course of their journey. Driving her fangs into the first boy’s neck, she heard the others scream and scramble. She dropped the first boy in his daze of being attacked and dove for the second, screaming a dull fury that had been meant for Ben Solo as her hands gripped on his neck.

He looked up at her with pleading eyes. “What…what are you?”

“Not an idiot,” she managed to say before diving her teeth into the base of his throat. She heard him gasp and struggle as his last friend tried to attack her, tossing broken pieces of wood towards her in a desperate attempt to save his buddy.

She latched down until she heard the dull gasp of death rattle in her ears. Turning, she hissed at the final, awkward boy.

“No, no, no,” he gasped, backing away as he waved his arms. “I got me mum and dad. I’m going to uni in the spring. _Please_.”

She had enough. She should have enough.

But the scent of Ben and knowing that she couldn’t kill him tonight made her want more. Her kindness was fleeting and she was determined to destroy it. She was always tired of walking in this world and never feeling at ease. This world should be hers and instead it was _theirs._ These filthy idiots only created waste. They didn’t know how fleeting life was.

The last boy watched her straighten, eyes darting in the darkness at the blood of his friends on her mouth.

“Please don’t kill me.”

His hands were shaking, dropping his phone with a dull thud on the floor. She eyed him in the dim light, glaring as she stalked forward.

“You’re not really living, so why don’t you just _die_.” Her words came from her growing anger at Ben and what she’d found out about him. He was just waiting for something. His apartment was empty; there was no real life there. He was a traveller, looking for something that he’d never find. They were all idiots and she was forced to live in the night, in shadow, while they ruled the world.

Her hands wrapped around the final boy’s neck before she could think, driving her teeth into his skin with a dull sigh of happiness as his blood started to flood her mouth, spreading warmth through her body. She would drink this one dry. She never got to go to university so why should this sod?

Everything made sense for the minutes that it took her to drain him. His heartbeat tasted sweet in her mouth as she felt him fade.

At the same time, she felt a dull pang of guilt that she was getting Ben’s shirt stained with blood.

 

-=-

 

Ben was rereading Poe’s manuscript, rolling his eyes at every third sentence, when his door turned and she slipped inside again.

He didn’t look up, but heard her hang his jacket and the distinctive plastic rustle of takeaway.

“Do you want a plate?”

He finally looked up. She was wearing new clothes now, a tight black tank and leggings. She’d tossed a roughed up backpack on his floor, along with another plastic bag, before moving into his kitchen.

Rolling his eyes at himself, he shrugged. “I guess.”

He heard her fumble around his kitchen until she returned to plant a plate of chow mein and a glass of wine on his coffee table. He hadn’t even heard her open the bottle.

She stepped back at his questioning eyes and shrugged. “I wanted to thank you.

“With my own money?”

“I bought the wine with _my_ money,” she said with a light glare, dropping to sit on the floor across from him. “I really did want to thank you.”

Sitting back, he closed his laptop. “You came back.”

She pursed her rose lips. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“I think that you said that already.”

“I might have,” she answered before dropping her head. “You’re hungry. You should eat.”

He was starving. He had skipped lunch in his haste to catch up with work and desperately needed to eat. Grabbing the fork that she’d set out for him, he watched her tracing patterns on his floor as he ate. He took a long drink of wine and finally cleared his throat.

“What are you.”

It wasn’t a question.

But he still wanted an answer.

Her brunette head quirked up in the low light of his living room. She was so young and beautiful, filling up his senses with auburn hair and hazel eyes. He had read Poe’s words and descriptions and knew full _well_ what she was. He wanted to hear it from her perfect lips.

“I’m…whatever you’ve already decided that I am. I’m a scavenger.”

He emptied his glass and watched as she rose to her feet to fetch the bottle, setting it on the coffee table before sitting on the far side of the couch, out of his reach. He poured himself another glass as he eyed her.

“Why are my clothes wrapped up?” He asked, stretching one long arm out over the back of his chesterfield. He could almost touch her, but she didn’t flinch. “And aren’t you having any food.”

“I…already ate.”

His mind should have despised her at those words, but instead he was fuelled by what he read from Poe’s dismal manuscript. They were beautiful creatures that couldn’t be tamed, only destroyed. They could kill without knowing it. This was her. Her soft neck and shining skin, perfect mouth and soft eyes, they were only meant to entice him. He was at the chapter where Poe had romanced one of these _things_ and it had taken all of his strength to shut his computer.

“Look, Claire…”

“Rey,” she corrected, softly.

“Rey,” he repeated. “I’m…exhausted. I should thank you for picking up the food, but I don’t really care. I paid for it. I fucking paid for you to go to God only knows where. Just…give me a break. What are you?”

She licked her lips and faked inhaling. “You already know what I am.”

“A vampire.”

“There is no better word for it,” she said with a shrug, leaning back. “But what are you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “An editor, a writer. Don’t change the subject.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re being stubborn. Why are you in London?”

“For work,” he shot back. “Why are _you_?”

“I live here,” her reply crawled carefully from her mouth as she set her long legs on his coffee table. “I always have.”

Daring to shift closer, he held his breath. “And how long have you been here?”

She tilted her head again, smirking. “You won’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He held her eyes, daring for her to look away as he sipped at his glass. She met his gaze, sitting up and shifting her legs to turn towards him. “I was born on September 1st, 1698. White Hall burnt down three days later. I only learnt that forty years ago when I dropped in at a lecture at the library.”

He took another long— _long_ —drink of wine. “You were alive for it and still needed someone else to tell you about it.”

Her eyes flicked from his hand to his mouth, watching him wipe dribble from his chin. “I didn’t say that I _listened_ that hard.”

He snorted into his glass and sat back, chuckling. “So…you’re…however many years old? And still needed _me_ to save you.”

She regarded him with a sudden coldness, shifting her to tuck her legs under her. “I didn’t have anyone else.”

Ben didn’t understand why he wanted to touch her, to feel her, but he let the alcohol guide him as he reached out to brush her cheek. It was cool to his touch, but soft and smooth. And she leaned into it, her eyes still holding their previous hardness.

“How did I find you?” He asked, tracing his hand down to her shoulder. “Why me?”

Offering him a light smile, she lifted her head. “I…I guided you to me. I needed you. I still…I want to hate you. But I can’t. I should be asking you _again_ what you are.

“I’m just…” he started and faltered, tracing a circle on her skin. He cleared his throat and shook his head, pulling back his hand. “This isn’t about me. If you’re staying here…”

“I can stay here?”

He sighed, refilling his glass. He’d need it. “I already, whatever, rearranged the bedroom. I guess you can stay. But I have to work in the morning. So if you’re going to kill me, you should do it now so I can drink myself to sleep and not wake up tomorrow.”

She pursed her lips and stood from the couch, pushing the plate of food closer to him. She did it without words before moving to his kitchen. She started doing the dishes as he reminded himself to eat while he drank, watching her move with ease around his home. She opened up her dirty bag of laundry and looked at him with soft eyes.

“In the washroom,” he motioned. “Don’t use too much detergent.”

She nodded, humming to herself as she took up his dirty clothes. He knew that he would have caught the dull scent of blood if he wasn’t so focused on finishing the bottle.

He heard the machine lock and her joyful shout at making it work. Pushing his empty plate aside, he picked up his full glass and strode to the washroom. She was on her knees, still studying his machine.

“It’s got a built-in dryer,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “And I guess I don’t need to explain how the shower works.”

“Showers are easy. Machines are also easy. Give me enough time and I can fix anything,” she said with a smile, leaning back to look up at him. “I used to rub my hands raw in the river, trying to get out all of the grime. Now, these things can take away every spot. It’s unbelievable.”

Glancing down her top and the delicate perkiness of her breasts, he had to sigh. “How old are you.”

“Nineteen.”

He shrugged. “I’m too buzzed to do math. But you’re not nineteen anymore.”

“No.”

Her eyes turned back to the rolling motions of his washing machine.

“How many people did you kill tonight?”

The question hung in the air, being drowned out by the timber of the washer. She looked at it for a long minutes before slouching.

“Three. But…but they didn’t mean anything.”

Sighing, he turned away. His glass was empty. He poured the last of the emptied the bottle with a frown as he heard her step back into the living room.

“They meant something to someone.” He kept his back to her, eyeing the dull green glass before he set it down. It wasn’t cheap.

“I know.”

He took the last of the wine into three long clunks before turning. How had the bottle disappeared so quickly? It was like time sped up when she was there, pushing him to keep up. There she was again, looking pale and sad and too thin, only a few feet away from him.

He’d brought this home with him. The part of him that made him crave danger was singing as he looked at her. The part of her hair, the curve of her hips…

“So why did you do it?”

She rolled a frown around her mouth before speaking. “You…you eat animals that don’t know any better. We…they all have feelings. Why are people so different?”

“So…” he started, moving into the kitchen to rinse out his glass. “So you’re saying I should be a vegetarian.”

He started giggling then, too tired and on the way to being drunk to fight it. He was laughing at his own lame joke and watched her slowly grin as he dried the glass and set it back in its home. At least, that’s where he thought that it should go. He felt weak suddenly and kept laughing to himself as he slid down his cupboard to the floor. Catlike, she crossed to sit across from him, showing glowing dimples as she smiled.

“You need water.”

Her words seemed to blur as he kept chuckling to himself. She wandered up to the sink and filled a glass. He grabbed her leg as she passed, feeling the strong muscle in his grasp.

“You’re doing this to me, aren’t you?” He asked, tracing up her leg.

She knelt down, forcing the water into his hand. “Call in sick to work tomorrow. You need it.”

“Yeah, “ he mumbled, taking down a quick drink of water with a thick gulp. “Yeah I’ll do that.”

She leaned back to brush his face, cool hands stroking up to his temple. “Call now.”

She had backed away and was out of his grasp before he could manage to reach for her. Fine. He’d do that. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with dull fingers and called Tekka’s secretary, leaving a short message that he was sick and would be working from home. He caught her sneaking out onto the balcony as he finished the call.

The rain chilled him as he joined her in the damp London air.

“You’re drunk, Ben,” she said, stepping away from him as he tried to step closer. “Go to bed.”

“But I’d have to be there all day, apparently, waiting for you to wake up.”

“You’re a quick learner.”

“I always had a 4.0 average.”

She grinned at him again, drawing him up into her face. “I can…help you sleep through the day. I…I don’t…”

“What?”

Despite how it turned his stomach at her killing people— _even_ _a man who he knew—_ he’d been alone for so long. And she was so…fragile when she wanted to be. There was something about her that made him want to know her more and the wine had dulled most of his reactions. This was part of her plan. It made him suddenly frown and she noticed it in a flash.

“I didn’t get you drunk on purpose. You did that yourself.”

“I guess.”

“You guess?” Her smile seemed to warm the rain that was falling on his shoulders, steadily pattering on the balcony deck.

“You’re alone too,” he said, finally realizing what had brought them together. “You’ve always felt alone.”

That made her eyes flair, first with warning and then with something else. “You still don’t know me.”

He stepped closer. “But I want to.”

Her eyes darkened and he already felt more tired at her gaze. “Go to sleep, Ben. I’ll join you soon. And then we’ll talk about this tomorrow night.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Her voice was soft in his ears and he sighed as she reached up to stroke his face. “Sleep now.”

He wanted to kiss her then, but instead forced himself to turn away. He found his way to his bed in his pitch-black dark room. He numbly took off his clothes, ignoring brushing his teeth or doing anything else. He sat on his bed and sighed, realizing that he had to pee before he could actually sleep.

Stumbling from his room, he glanced over his shoulder. She was still fixing his apartment, dusting places that he didn’t realize existed.

Her hazel eyes met his again and she smiled, tilting her head. “Go to bed.”

“I will I just needed to…”

She grinned and turned away as he turned towards the toilet. Shutting the door with his foot, he groaned as he relieved himself. It had been a long, strange, awkward day. What harm could it do to spend the next day in bed?

He caught her in the hallway, rummaging through her backpack. She glanced up to offer him a soft look. He could feel her studying his body in the low light of his hallway. He knew that he was toned and strong, a broad chest and intimidating stance. But his legs still bothered him. His calves never matched his thighs. Her eyes seemed to snap to them.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, her voice echoing in his quiet and empty apartment.

He hoped so, even though he knew that she might kill him in the night.

He accepted it. Like he did so many nights before when he stumbled to bed, drunk or high or both, he was willing to let his heart explode at any minute.

Falling asleep quickly, he only stirred when he felt a cool touch to his shoulder.

“Hmm?” He rolled over, swatting at the hand.

“It’s nearly dawn.” Her soft voice floated to his ear. “I need to sleep.”

“Mmhmm.” He mumbled, head starting to ache.

The ache spread down and he felt her get in the bed, sighing at his reaction. The pain in his head grew to white sparks, blooming in his eyes in the darkened room.

“Sleep.”

He did, but knew that he didn’t actually choose to.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Rey awoke feeling more well-rested than she had in over a hundred years, or at least it felt like it. It was waking up without a pure ache in her bones or a pounding, yet distant, panic in her head to keep moving or to keep planning. It was like being able to breathe again; that was something that she had forgotten long ago. It was an odd sensation to wake up without the dull taste of dread in her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time that she woke up and felt warm and whole. Warmth was the key; she forgot how simple that comfort was. This wasn’t a cold warehouse or stolen minutes before dawn in a train station. This wasn’t curled up next to a drained body, thankful for food and the comfort of death and neighbours who never noticed things.

And most of all, this wasn’t a workhouse floor, surrounded by dust, dirt, and bloodied and broken fingers.

When she glanced down at her chest, she found the source of the caring heart that fed her energy.

She actually smiled without feeling guilty.

The sensation didn’t last long as she looked down at the poor man that she’d drawn into her confusing life.

His eyeglasses were askew and a sleeping laptop rested between his legs. There was a warm quilt that covered his legs, but his chest was bare. The table-side lamp was on and she quirked her head and frowned. She’d put Ben’s computer on the bed before she went to rest at the crux of that morning's dawning sun. Something burnt within her to do that. He said that he needed to work, and for some reason he would think that he would be tied to the bed until the sun set. That was her fault; but she still needed to test him.

He could be the biggest idiot who she ever met, but she needed him in some way.

He wasn’t just a drunk with a dead daughter, desperate to fill holes in his mind.

He wasn’t an idiot trolling for women at the pub.

He was a man with secrets that she wanted to know.

And he smelled like cinnamon.

Even as she shifted to rise, she caught the scent of him again and it put her in the past. A man, long dead, with seemingly kind hands and a gentle smile, who held her down and took what he wanted. That smell was blissful, until the worst happened. And now that’s who she was and had been for too long. Worlds were colliding in her mind as she sighed and stroked his hair.

His dark locks were delicate; the texture made her fingertips tingle. How could anything be this soft?

He must have been working all day. She made him do that. She demanded that he do it.

Guilt was the hardest emotion to kill. Anytime she met another like her, he or she—sometimes a dark _it_ that was older than civilization itself—would always berate her about how she felt. It was always some dogmatic talk about predator and prey and superior species that made her roll her eyes. That’s why she kept to herself. The other London nests could never have anything on her if she was alone.

But now she wasn’t.

This man was also foreign here. She’d explored his apartment and his past, as far as his open links could take her. He was honest. He was good. He didn't have family photographs; however, there were tell-tale trinkets from travels or childhood. A model silver car rested on the top of one shelf and she'd taken it down to dust it. He’d saved her and even if she was starving now, he had looked at her with a need that she didn’t understand. Few people were mysterious to her; each subsequent generation ended up feeling the same after a while. She wanted to be alone and push him away—but at the same time, it felt so good to feel someone warm beside her that wasn’t gasping and pleading for his life.

Maybe this wasn’t like they all said; living with a breather couldn’t be so hard. He had a job and a family. He wasn’t from Britain and didn’t know every corner pub or back alley. She was always told to kill her kindness and tried her best to push it down and let it die in an ignored corner of her mind. But it was always there; the girl who she used to be always rose up.

Looking at him and how innocently he slept, she wished she could be like him. She missed the sun and how it used to kiss her skin. She missed _breathing_ and _dreaming_ and thinking about a future that wasn’t mixed with sweat and grime. Shuddering, she bit her lip. He had what she wanted and could never have.

The evening had woken her and she was just tired, she finally told herself.

And her bed partner needed to pee.

She sighed and rolled over, kicking out her leg to purposely wake him. Still dressed from the night before, she wanted to change and get moving.

“Hrrrummph.”

The sounds he made were adorable. She hadn’t thought about that word or feeling in years or decades. When did that happen?

“Ben?” She said, keeping her voice flat. “We can get up now.”

He blinked slowly, and then shut his eyes again. “Too tired.”

“Did you stay up all day working?”

She studied his soft eyelashes after the words left her mouth. He was cuddled up to her like a lost dog. She remembered how they would always find her, seeking out anything that smelled like the prospect of food. At the same time, images of his body brushed across her mind. He had already shown that he would fight for her. She knew that. But what was he working on?

“It’s…yeah, I was working.” He sat up and took off his glass, rubbing his eyes. “You…I woke up earlier and you…”

“I look dead when I sleep.” Her voice was steady, but she felt uneven. How could she kill every night and feel shaken by a simple look?

He sighed and nodded. “You don’t blink or breathe. I needed to work. It was hard to look at you.”

“I’m not really dead,” she said, probably too quickly. “It just looks that way.”

He licked his lips. “It was strange. Maybe I can get used to it.”

The words fluttered against her chest but she forced a straight face. “I’m hungry. We have to get up.”

He blinked. “I’m guessing that leftovers aren’t good enough.”

He liked lame jokes. People now always made stupid jokes when they were nervous. She smiled and tilted her head, earning a grin from him that stretched from ear to ear. He _liked_ her. How could he like her? His heart was beating quicker, but that could mean anything. She didn’t like not knowing yet tried to let the feeling linger.

“No.” She tried not to giggle, but her voice was softer than she wanted. “We need to shower and I’ll…we can go out. You can eat and then I’ll…eat. You can go home before that.”

He shifted in the bed, closing the laptop and sitting up. “Maybe I want to stick around.”

Narrowing her eyes, she swallowed a bit of air. “You hate what I do. You said as much.”

Shrugging, he stood from the bed to stretch. He was purposely trying to look nonchalant but it was so obvious that he was curious. She could smell it.

He rolled his broad shoulders and her hunger seized her for a moment. His back was to her, muscles flexing as he worked out a kink in his neck. Just seeing how his pulse throbbed under his skin, cast in the low light of the small lamp, made her sit up. Her jaw trembled as she fought to keep her fangs from extending.

The muffled slamming on the outer door made them both jolt and her thoughts instantly transformed into the need to flee. A deep and angry voice told him that ignoring the messages from the police couldn’t go on forever. She hadn’t realized how little days and nights meant to her at this point; it was all a stream of events and the need to survive. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she had started to lose her grip on what she was striving for and just what existence meant now.

His shoulders firmed and sighed before turning back to her. “Wait here.”

She nodded, but it was a lie.

He kept his eyes on her. “Fine, then meet me at the corner fish and chips shop. Or whatever you call it.”

He sounded briefly bitter at the differences in terms from where he was born to where he was now. Again, she ached over the trivial similarity, but forced her lips into a firm line.

“I was born before we had real shops. You can call it whatever you want.”

He was in the middle of picking up a shirt and met her eyes in a look of confusion. “Wait. You’re just going to jump out of the window and then…meet me again?”

She didn’t know what else to do so she shrugged. “Yes, I mean, my things are here. And I don’t want to deal with the cops.”

He blinked slowly, then quickly, before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before. And I’ve met a lot of strange people.”

The banging on the door made him roll his eyes and she shifted off the bed to the window, already readying herself for the drop. It didn’t exactly hurt to land — it was more preparing for the intrusion of eyes around her. These things never worked well just after sundown. Her feelings always twisted at how unjust it all ways; the night should just be hers.

She glanced over her shoulder as he was pulling on a pair of trousers, catching one last glance at his strong and toned form. His hands and arms fascinated her; still, it was the different tones of his skin that drew her in more. There were the hints of a dying tan circling his neck and snaking down his shoulders and arms. He could move between worlds but had chosen to stay in hers that day. It may have just been for a few hours of his life, but she had never really had someone who had chosen her before.

He shifted his weight under her gaze and stood still for a moment. He was also looking for answers that she didn’t really have right then. He broke the tableau after only a few seconds, but she still turned away before the discomfort could further twist her heart.

She heard him clear his throat, but didn’t look back. Her hand quivered at the latch and she cursed herself in ancient words at her flaws.

“It sticks,” he said, before quickly leaving the darkened room.

She shrugged and put her weight into opening the window.

She would decide on the way down if she would wait for him or not.

 


End file.
